Quotes About Rose

Something like inner beauty will live forever, like the scent of a rose.

Die of a rose in aromatic pain?

So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.

Your voice would have silenced merle and thrush, And the rose outbloomed would have blushed to blush, And Summer, seeing you, paused, and known That the glow of your beauty outshone its own.

It's such a more mainstream demographic that watches 'Total Divas.'

It was hard to imagine him sneaking around and leaving a rose on anyone's doormat, but I guess boys will surprise you sometimes.

I'm not afraid," she said defensively. Now he seemed humored. "Of course. You're not afraid of anything. At least you think you're not. That's why I'm sending you home." Thank you for your advice." Rose thrust her chin in the air and marched away, not looking back. She was almost sure she heard him laughing softly behind her.

She hurried off, leaving Rose feeling like the tiny soap suds left over from a burst bubble.

Well, it's not easy to stand alone against the ridicule of others. He gambled for support and I gave it to him.

The goddess Aphrodite floated around them on a small white cloud, strewing rose petals in the giantess's eyes and calling encouragement to Piper. 'Lovely, my dear. Yes, good. Hit her again!

I did not pray Him to lay bare The mystery to me, Enough the rose was Heaven to smell, And His own face to see.

Prayer is the ascending vapor which supplies The showers of blessing and the stream that flows Through earth's dry places till on every side "The wilderness shall blossom as the rose."

He wears the roseOf youth upon him.

Even the rose, with its traditional connotations of fragrance and purity, can appear in different situations, which underlines the very important point that metaphor is primarily contextual.

Love and hatred belong to the same plant: one is rose, the other is thorn.

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said softly, I love you, Mother. He took my hand and kissed it, and folded my fingers round the stem of the rose. He had stripped it of its thorns.

It has been funny and delightful, that little interlude of admiration, but of course it couldn't go on once Caroline appeared. Rose knew her place.

Officer Rose was the president of the Boston Police Patrolmen's Association at the time, and he was furious.

It seemed inconceivable, but during the morning hours the wind actually rose

Thus nature gets credit which should in truth be reserved for ourselves: the rose for its scent: the nightingale for his song: the sun for its radiance. The poets are entirely mistaken. They should address their lyrics to themselves, and should turn them into odes of self-congratulation on the excellency of the human mind. Nature is a dull affair, soundless, scentless, colourless...

love lies hidden in every rose...

If love were what the rose is,And I were like the leaf,Our lives would grow togetherIn sad or singing weather.

If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together, In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowerful closes, Green pleasure or grey grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf.

For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust.